As graduation had gotten closer, so had he. He was touching, feeling, holding all the time. Even at work. I’d told him that he shouldn’t—that we shouldn’t—but he’d said that it was his choice. His burden to bear when the day arrived and I’d be gone.
“I have absolutely nothing to offer you,” he said, his head in his fridge. “I have beer, pastrami, and cheese.” He closed the refrigerator door and turned to me. “And water. I have water.”
I laughed and jumped off the kitchen counter. “I guess I’ll take the water.”
“Good choice.” He opened a cabinet and pulled out a glass, then proceeded to fill it with tap water. Then he did the same for himself.
His eyes locked with mine as I drank the entire contents of the glass, trying to relieve the dryness in my mouth, which occurred whenever he looked at me the way he was.
When I was done, he took the glass from my hand and placed it in the dishwasher, then picked up his gym bag from the floor and walked to the laundry room. I followed and watched as he emptied the bag and loaded the washing machine, switching it on before turning to me.
“You’re so domesticated,” I joked.
He laughed. “Yeah, I had to learn the hard way. Turns out kids don’t want to hang out with you when you wear the same clothes three days in a row because your parents forget to do your laundry.”
I pouted. “Well, at least you’ll make some woman very happy one day.”
He sighed and dropped his gaze. Then he reached over my shoulder and closed the laundry-room door behind me. Both his hands were on my hips, gently pushing me until my back hit the door. “Chloe,” he said, his mouth descending and making contact with my bare shoulder. “I could make you a very happy woman right now.” He pulled back, raising his gaze to mine. He chewed his lip, waiting for me to speak, but I couldn’t.
He smiled slowly, before moving in and kissing me. The touching, the hand holding . . . they were all constant, but the kisses weren’t. He lifted me off the ground until my legs were around him. My hands gripped his hair as he kissed me harder, lifting me and moving us until I was sitting on the washing machine. He began to kiss along my jaw and down my neck. He grabbed my ass and pulled me closer to him, so I could feel him between my legs. Then his hands moved higher, under my shirt and onto my waist. His lips moved back up until they were on my mouth again. Kissing me softly, slowly. He pulled back quickly, searching my face. “Chloe?” It came out as a question, and I knew what he wanted.
“No, Blake,” I told him.
It was the first time he’d brought it up but definitely not the first time I’d thought about it. Sex with Blake wouldn’t just be sex, no matter how much we’d try to convince ourselves otherwise. Sex, Blake, the experience, the emotion . . . I knew without a doubt that it would be the one thing that could make me stay. And I didn’t want to do that to either of us.
“I know.” He frowned before pulling away, holding my hand, and helping me to hop down.
He swiftly exited the laundry room mumbling something about needing to shoot hoops to get his mind off it.
Blake
“Chloe. I don’t wanna sound mean or anything . . .” I watched as she used both hands to bounce the basketball in my driveway. “But I’ve been trying to teach you how to dribble for weeks now, and you’re just like . . . beyond uncoordinated. I feel like I’ve failed at life.”
She laughed. “Shut up!” She bounced the ball twice; the second time it hit her foot. She yelped as the ball rolled away toward the guesthouse. Mom opened the door just as it stopped at her feet.
She waved. “Hi, Blake.”
“Hey, Ma.” I nodded toward the ball and clapped my hands, a signal for her to throw it back.
“Oh,” she said, surprised, then bent over and picked it up. She looked at it a moment, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“Just pass it,” I shouted.
“Okay, Blake. Calm down.”
She lifted the ball in her hand and slowly moved it over her shoulder. It looked as though she was about to throw it, but she changed her mind last minute. Instead she placed both hands on either side of it and lifted it over her head.
I stood with my fists at my waist. I tilted my head, wondering what the hell she was doing.
But suddenly she dropped it—right onto her head. She squealed and ducked as it fell away from her.
I laughed. “You and Chloe should start a team. Call it Team T.U.L—The Uncoordinated Losers!”
“Hey!” Chloe shouted from behind me. “We could totally take you. Both of us against you? No competition!”
“Yeah?” I asked, watching her walk over to me. “I’d like to see you try.”
She stopped in front of me, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed. Then she smiled, an all-consuming smile. “Mrs. Hunter,” she yelled over her shoulder. “Blake just challenged us to a game.” She looked over at my mom. “Get your sneakers on and come play!”
A minute later, Mom joined Chloe and me in the driveway.
They stood next to each other, their arms at their sides, looking ridiculous. “Do you need me to remind you of the rules?”
Chloe rolled her eyes.
Mom shrugged. “Maybe.”
I held the ball to my side. “Rule one: Travel—”
Chloe stepped forward and pushed my arm, releasing the ball from my grip. She squealed when she got hold of it.